She lies on a colorless bed, remaining silent

Her chest rises and falls softly, the rest of her body motionless

Strange, bulky machines occasionally beep, randomly stirring the silence

So young, so innocent

She almost makes the surrounding world appear greedy

 Women her age despise their hair if they find a single silver strand, she has no hair

They complain that they aren’t as energetic as they once were, by the grace of God she might gather enough to say her final goodbyes

Seeing her tortured and practically eaten alive by this cancer, it is bittersweet seeing her unconscious in a coma, now unable to feel the pain

Her husband, family, and friends gather by her bedside to watch her lie unmoving

Not a word is spoken, not a smile is revealed

Nothing is left to do but hope and pray

Mother nudges me towards the deathbed, and tells me to say goodbye, just in case this would prove to be our last visit

It is hard for me, an eleven year old, to even consider losing her, but I seize my last opportunity, swallowing hard

Mother quietly shoos everyone out of the room as I ponder what I should say

Leaning towards her, I whisper my love and final adieu, carefully choosing my parting words as salty tears begin to kiss my cheek

The moments seem everlasting when my family finally returns to the room

I hand my uncle, now a zombie of a man, my painting, hoping to bring a smile to his blank face

His eyes skim the pallet, admiring the vibrant colors of my sunset

At last, his voice breaks the ongoing quiet to show his thanks

He almost adds a ring to the end of his sentences; as if hopeful she will one day enjoy the sight too

We all say our goodbyes and wish her luck

Stealing a final glimpse of my doomed loved one, I cannot help but notice how pretty she truly is

Despite the wires, tubes, and grey surroundings, her peaceful complexion and permanent slight smile will forever be more beautiful than any model or cover girl

Turning back to the somber hallway, my youthful mind gets the best of me and gives me a false sense of optimism

Little did I know that my painting will never be seen by her gentle blue eyes